


Nautilator's No Good Very Bad Day

by Onamonapiedia



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Size Kink, Sticky, Voice Kink, dubcon, noncon, wing play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onamonapiedia/pseuds/Onamonapiedia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain disadvantages to sharing vocal resonance with the most feared mech in the universe.  An ornery jet's attentions is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nautilator's No Good Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> This probably needs a little more editing, but bu1u is having a bad day and I wanted to get it out (since I started writing it for her back in December and all). So here it is, just in time for her birthday too. You should all go check her art out on Tumblr, it's pretty great.

How did he keep getting into these situations?  He wasn’t anything special, just your average Decepticon grunt trying to make it to the end of the war.  He had never done anything remarkable enough to set himself apart from the rest of his squad, never faced down the Wreckers singlehandedly or discovered a new source of energon just in time to save his regiment from deactivation.  And it wasn’t like he’d ever severely screwed up either, his many blunders never annoying anyone further up the chain of command than his gestalt leader Snaptrap.  He didn’t even have a cool alt mode like all these imposing mechs on the Nemesis.  He turned into a giant lobster for frag’s sake!

He was pathetically ordinary, completely unremarkable, and (excluding the stupidity of his alt mode) utterly forgettable.  There wasn’t a single thing about him that he would ever be noticed for… well, except maybe the voice.

Not that it was a particularly bad voice mind you (or good for that matter), it just didn’t happen to be his voice alone; and sharing vocal resonance with the greatest tyrant in the universe gave Nautilator some very special problems indeed.

Problems very much like the one he found himself in now, lying flat on his back with a much bigger, much stronger mech running their servos over every inch of his frame.  Not that this was always a bad situation to be in, he often enjoyed being lavished by a pair of large servos gripping at his alt mode legs and pressing rough digits into the seams at his waist.  Besides, it was always fun to see a hulking tank of a bot uncontrollably shudder every time he gave a command.  No, it was the mechs who had something a little different in mind that made him curse the engineers responsible for modulating his vocalizer, especially when said mech severely outranked him.

“I ordered you to moan,” Starscream sneered down at Nautilator from his crouched position over the beastformer, roughly thrusting his spike into the seacon’s barely lubricated valve.

For what felt like the millionth time since arriving on the Nemesis, Nautilator cursed his luck.  It hadn’t really been necessary for the seacons to be space-bridged in from their assignment half way across the universe just to perform rudimentary maintenance on the outer hull of the submerged spaceship, there were plenty of mechs already based planetside whose frame were built to withstand the high pressures of the surrounding aquatic environment.  The only reason they had been given this punishment of an assignment in the first place was because Shockwave was furious with them for damaging his precious Underwater Thermal Energon Converter… or at least as furious as a mech who supposedly had all their emotions removed could be.

Which is how he came to be on Earth; spending his cycles removing indigenous life forms from the shell of the spaceship with teammates who currently hated him.  Which wasn’t fair by the way, it wasn’t his fault he dropped that power conduit down the 15 hec underwater ravine.  He’d had a perfectly fine grasp of the part until Tentakil shoved Overbite into him.  Besides, you would have thought they had learned not to put him in charge of the important parts already.  He didn’t like barnacle duty any more than they did.

Although scraping barnacles was starting to sound pretty good right now, especially with the glare currently aimed his way.  As Starscream began growling down at him, emphasizing his irritation at his earlier command being ignored with a few sharp thrusts to the sore lining of the seacon’s valve, Nautilator decided to save himself some future strife and just give the ornery jet what he wanted.  Personally the beastformer felt his performance was a little over the top, but the seeker seemed pleased as he began to excessively whimper and moan, if the satisfied smirk and evening out of strokes was anything to go by.

For several moments Starscream continued pushing in and out of the seacon’s valve, finding his pace and attempting to elicit all sorts of perverse sounds from Nautilator’s vocalize.  After several smoother thrusts the ache that had been present between the beastformer’s legs ever since the jet had begun his onslaught started to subside.  Though the sensation that persisted couldn’t exactly be described as pleasurable, at least the intrusion was bearable now.  Then, just as he was starting to become used to the uncomfortable feeling of the seeker moving inside of him, Primus, or more specifically Starscream, decided to add another level of mockery to this already humiliating situation.

“You like that don’t you,” the air commander purred into the seacons’ audio, his voice deep and  slick with arousal as he continued to thrust into the smaller mech’s valve.  “You _like_ it when I spike you like this, when I take you _rough_ and _fast_.  You _enjoy_ being under my control, succumbing to my _every_ command.  You _want_ me to give you orders, you _want_ to submit to me.”

The seeker’s lewd remarks startled Nautilator, but he thought better than to voice his confusion.  Instead he chose the option that would most likely please the egotistical mech, and hopefully get this all over with soon.

“Oh, yes Starscream,” he moaned, barely managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Starscream’s pace faltered at the seacon’s words, his optics offlining and entire frame shaking with pleasure as he nearly collapsed on top of Nautilator.  For a moment the beastformer thought the Air Commander was going to overload right then and there, but after a klik the seeker regained his composure, and when he onlined his optics again they were filled with a lust that told Nautilator this ordeal was far from over.

“You will address me as _Lord_ ,” Starscream reprimanded, though he was unable to keep the quiver of intense arousal out of his voice.

Trying not to flinch as the pace suddenly increased, Nautilator did his best to keep up his part in whatever fantasy Starscream was playing at.  The faster he could get Starscream to overload the sooner he could head back to his team’s temporary quarters and hopefully do some much needed TLC before his teammates got back from their shift and decided to express their frustration at him leaving half way through a job and never returning.

“Yes, my _Lord_ ,” Nautilator did his best to moan before Starscream decided he wasn’t responding fast enough.

“How long have you been waiting for this, dreaming of having me inside of you?” the jet panted.  “What dirty thoughts must run through you processor sitting up there on your throne all day, just waiting for me to tear you down from that seat and have my way with you.   You’d like that wouldn’t you?  If I took you right there in the command center, in front of all your loyal soldiers. What would they think of their mighty leader then, if I showed them what you’re really like?  Would that devoted little aft-kisser of yours ever be able to look at you again, after I’ve spread you wide and made you moan for my spike like a pleasure drone for the universe to see?”

Nautilator now understand why he specifically had been called into the Air Commander’s quarters, and though this wasn’t the first time he had been asked to play such a role in the berth, it was definitely the most explicit.  Who knew Starscream had such a thing for their ruthless leader?

As the air commander continued his perverse ramblings Nautliator did his best to please the seeker, adding the occasional moan in affirmation or “yes my lord” when the time seemed right, simply wanting this ordeal to be over.  After a rather long list of illicit comments, detailing some very specific things the jet would like to do to their esteemed leader, the mech’s thrusts began to take on a more erratic pace, and as Starscream’s overload drew near Nautilator felt his spark flood with relief.  Only a few more kliks and this would all be over with, then he could go back to his life like this night had never happened, taking the knowledge of the jet’s fantasies with him to the Well of Allsparks.

Too bad things never seemed to go his way.

The first sign that something was about to go horribly wrong was the shockingly bright light that suddenly flooded the dim room.  An event that somehow managed to go completely unnoticed by the mech above him, whose optics had turned off to better suit his fantasies as the vulgarities never ceased to fall from his mouth.

“Oh yes, YES! I’m almost there.  Are you ready for this, to feel me fill you?  Does it excite you to think about me overloading inside you?  Does the knowledge that when you leave here tonight you will carry a part of me with you set your circuits ablaze, the mere thought that no matter how hard you clean there will always be that little bit there, marking you as mine.  Tell me, how does it make you feel Megatron?”

Nautilator’s processor almost stopped as that horrifying name echoed throughout the far too small room, accompanied only by the sound of their hips clanging together.  The seacon froze in place, too terrified to make any attempts at warning the mech above him that they were no longer alone as the one voice he dreaded more than anything in the universe sounded across the room.

A voice so very much like his own.

“Starscream,” Megatron growled, jolting the mech in question out of his reverie.

“ _MEGATRON!_ ” the jet screamed in alarm, painfully jerking out of Nautilator’s tender valve to face the mech entering the room.  “W-w-w-what are you doing here?!”

Their cruel leader, the most feared mech in the universe, stood framed in the open doorway, his expression shaded as light streamed in around him from the hallway.  Ignoring his second’s startled remark, the tyrant took his time to examine the scene before him, giving the jet ample opportunity to stumble over himself trying to hide what he had just been doing.

“When you refuse to answer your comm line Starscream, you leave me no choice but to seek you out myself.”  Their Lord’s voice was smooth and measured, the same timbre he often used before putting traitorous soldiers in their place.  (A place that often involved bleeding out at the tyrant’s pedes.)  Nautliator just hoped his punishment would end him quickly.

Right now would be good too.  Preferable even.  He would be willing to sell his spark if it meant he wouldn’t have to experience whatever was about to happen next.

“I-it’s my off-shift!” Starscream sputtered, spreading out his wings, either in an attempt to appear larger than he actually was or simply to hide the evidence that Nautilator provided to his recent activities.  Though there was little he could do to hide his fully pressurized (and still glistening) spike no doubt proudly on display.  “I don’t have to answer to you.”

“You _always_ have to answer to me Starscream,” Megatron stalked across the room to sneer directly into the seeker’s face, locking optics with the jet as he invaded the arrogant mech’s personal space.  “And when I call you,” the warlord bit, “you _will_ come.”

For several moments the brute stared his second down, taking pleasure as the jet sputtered to respond, his wings shuddering it what Nautilator at first assumed was fear.  However he soon came to realize that dread was not the only cause of the trembling, as Megatron had taken to tracing Starscream’s erect spike with the side of a large digit.

“What is this about Starscream?”  Megatron asked, the earlier anger in his voice now gone, replaced by a sensual growl.  “Is it another attempt at making me jealous?  Because let’s be honest, this is worse than that time you tried to persuade Soundwave to frag you in my command chair.”

Any denials the seeker may have wanted to make were lost in incoherency as he began to openly moan in response to teasing brush of that single digit.

“Or maybe this is some attempt at proving yourself,” their Lord continued, purring into the SIC’s audio.  “Seeing if you can _give_ as good as you _take_.  Personally I have to say I’m rather unimpressed… and I do believe your little guest would have to agree.”  Suddenly Nautilator was painfully aware of how exposed he was as two blazing red optics peered around the jet’s shoulder vent to examine every contour and fold of his partially moistened valve.  “ _Tsk, tsk ._ He’s hardly even flustered,” the warlord paused his servo, insuring the jet took in every word of what he was about to say; and even though the sentence was spoken so softly Nautilator had to strain his audios to hear, he had no doubt he would be reliving those words every night in his recharge cycle for as long as he lived.  “Why don’t I show you?”

Before Nuatilator had a chance to fully grasp the implications of the question, he suddenly found himself faceplate to faceplate with the most feared mech in the universe, unable to do anything in protest as a large servo reached out to bend a knee to his chest.

From the floor, an annoyed huff sounded as Starscream lifted himself up from where he had been pushed aside.  “You couldn’t satisfy a pleasure drone,” the jet sneered as he pulled himself into a chair at the side of the berth.  Though when Nautilator glanced over at him (hoping beyond hope that possessive mech might do something to intervene), the seeker didn’t seem nearly as offended as he put on.  Instead, he appeared to be positioning himself to get a better view of the show, a servo coming up to rub at his spike in a similar manner as their Lord just had.

A motion that did not go unnoticed by the brute above him, a powerful growl emitting from the savage’s vocalizer that resonated throughout the beastformer’s frame.

“No touching Starscream, that is your punishment,” the brute threatened, sending the seeker a pointed look that was venomously returned.  As the haughty mech reluctantly complied, removing the servo and explicitly curling both sets of digits around the arms of the chair, he sent a spiteful sneer at the two frames prone on the berth.

Satisfied with the seeker’s response, if not his attitude, Megatron returned his attention to the mech bellow him, rubbing at the thigh in his hand as his other servo came up to massage Nautilator’s aft.  The beastformer flinched at the sudden contact, but forced himself to relax, afraid of the consequences any perceived resistance might earn.  Glancing up at the deadly mech, Nautilator was nervous to find his leader taking in every detail of his beastformer frame, giving special attention to the red and white paint transfers on the insides of his thighs.  Distracted by the threatening way the warlord was roughly scraping a digit along the edge of one such smudge, Nautilator was taken by surprise when a large digit suddenly prodded at the entrance to his valve.

Not for the first time, Nautilator was stunned by how large the militant was.  The ex-miner’s frame (reformatted for the gladiatorial pits and rebuilt for war again and again) was broad and solid, designed for hauling rocks and weapons alike; his plating made thick and durable to withstand both cave-ins and assaults.  He towered over mechs of the same class by shear presence alone, made only more imposing with the addition of the fusion cannon still attached to his arm.  And his hands were no exception, a single digit filling him nearly as full as the seeker’s spike had.

“He’s hardly lubricated, have you even done this before?” Megatron taunted, swirling the digit inside the season’s valve.  Nautilator couldn’t make out Starscream’s mumbled response, too distracted by the digit gently prodding and rubbing at his quickly moistening walls, soothing away the ache from its previous abuse.  “Well then, allow me give you a lesson in the matter,” Megatron declared, easing a second digit into Nautilator’s now wet valve.

With the additional digit, Nautilator began to really feel the stretch, but the pain had yet to return.  Even with less room to move, his Lord’s caress remained pleasant, gently prying at the pliable lining until lubricant began to trickle down the warrior’s palm.  This was not the type of treatment the seacon had been expecting when the brute decided to demonstrate his superiority, but he couldn’t say he was complaining as a digit curled against a rather sensitive node, pulling an unheeded moan from his lip-plates.

The ex-gladiator’s other servo continued massaging his raised thigh, dipping between seams in the plating and running firm strokes up and down the appendage, occasionally coming close enough to his spike housing to lightly brush against the closed hatch.  The entire experience was so different from his pervious ordeal he couldn’t help bus succumb to his leader’s touch.  It wasn’t until the digits stilled and began to withdrawal that he realized just how far gone he truly was.

“Enough,” Megatron snarled down at him, his displeasure apparent on his face, “if you don’t stop that insistent sniveling I will insure you don’t enjoy this.”  Nautilator stared back at his commander, not sure what the brawler was referring to in his threat but not wanting to tempt the militant.  Only after the seacon came back to his senses did he become aware of the whimpering moans he was currently making.  “I will not stand to hear my voice making such revolting sounds,” the warlord commanded, a warning glean in optics.

Nautilator quickly complied, offlining his vocalizer to end the persistent noise, untrusting in his ability to remain silent otherwise.  As quiet descended upon the space, Megatron nodded his helm in satisfaction, resuming his caress.

Across the room, Starscream took the lapse in action as an opportunity to voice his displeasure in being ignored.

“Oh, get on with it already,” the jet griped, claws digging furrows into the arms of the chair.

“Patience Starscream,” Megatron chided, laughing a huff at the jet indignant scoff.  “The key to a good spiking is preparation.  If the valve is not properly stretched then it can easily become torn.  And we wouldn’t want that, now would we?”  Megatron penetrated Strascream with a knowing look, smirking at the indignant glare he received in return.

“You wouldn’t have to spend so much time preparing if your spike wasn’t so ridiculously big,” the jet rebuked, drawing Nautilator out of the pleasurable fog he had drifted back into.  As the seeker’s word registered, the seacon found his gaze traveling down his body, past his raised thigh and the servo that held it in place, all the way down to the large object protruding from between the warrior’s legs.  For several moments he started in disbelief, uncomprehending what stood before him.

Did Megatron always have kibble protruding from his pelvic armor like that?  It was rather crude, something one usually only saw on pleasure drones and buy mechs.  Nautilator would have thought the militant had more class then that.  Besides, he could have sworn he would have noticed something so tacky in all those holovid speeches they’d been forced to watch in basic training.

When it finally registered that the protrusion was in fact the large mech’s spike and not an additional piece of ornamentation Nautilator hadn’t noticed before, the seacon’s engine stalled. 

There was no way that could be a spike, it was too big, and thick, and long, and just altogether… _wrong_.  No one had a spike that size, they didn’t make them that big… did they?  And even if it was a spike, there was no way they could be expecting him to take all that.  He was far from factory fresh, often enjoying the stretch of a larger partner, but there was just no way!

“I’ve never heard you complain before,” the tyrant retorted to the jet’s insult, spreading the valve before him wide as the beastformer’s panic began to set in.  When the walls were stretched as far as they would go, Megatron inserted a third digit into the cavity, at precisely the same moment the seacon tensed up in apprehension.  The combination of the sudden addition and the hard tightening of his valve caused Nautilator to topple over into an abrupt overload, frame arching up of the berth as charge ran through his frame, the shock of the sudden surge knocking him briefly offline.

The first sight the seacon saw when he came to was Megatron’s face smirking down at him.

“Well now that you’ve proven whatever it was you were trying to accomplish here,” Starscream impatiently called from where he was fidgeting in his chair, “why don’t we get on with the main event?”

“Sit _down_ ,” Megatron commanded as the jet made to rise from his seat, before returning his attentions to the mech before him.  “We’ve only just begun.” 

The warlord gave a few quick strokes to the beastformer’s now oversensitive lining, running a soothing servo over the still raised thigh, before slowly sliding each digits out.  Taking a moment to prepare himself, the militant rubbed the dirty servo over his pressurized spike, spreading the lubricant covering his hand over its pulsing head.

Too exhausted to make any protests, Nautilator lay back in submission as the warlord lined up his spike and began to press in.  At first the intrusion burned, stretching him wider than ever before, though it wasn’t nearly as painful as the seacon had anticipated; the ex-gladiator rubbing at his thigh anytime he began to tense up, even taking the time to stroke his abdomen and play with his alt mode legs on occasion.

By the time Megatron was fully seated, Nautilator didn’t feel any pain.  When the tyrant started moving, slowly thrusting in and out of the seacon’s valve, Nautilator was glad he had already turned his vocalizer off, certain that otherwise he would be moaning like a pleasure drone.

It didn’t take long for the charge to build back up, for his entire frame to tingle with current as his valve was deliciously stretched with every thrust.  The militant started out slow, his pace gentle to ensure Nautilator was properly prepared and wouldn’t feel any discomfort from the intrusion, only speeding up when he was sure he wouldn’t cause any damage.  As the tempo increased, so did Nautilator’s charge, and with only a few deep plunges he toppled over into his second overload of the night, this time managing to stay online.

Throughout the entire release, Megatron continued moving, drawing every ounce of pleasure he could from the beastformer’s frame.  Only when Nautilator came down from his high, his body convulsing one last time before relaxing into the berth, did the militant withdrawal, giving one last squeeze to the seacon’s thigh before standing up straight and looking over to the third mech in the room.

For a moment Nautilator was confused, his leader had yet to overload himself, his rigid spike a testament to that, but he quickly decided to let the tyrant do as he pleased.  Besides, this berth was so comfy, much nicer than the ones they had down in the barracks, and the thought of recharge sounded so good right now.

“That Starscream, is how you give a proper spiking,” Megatron declared to the seeker perched on his chair.

“Oh, yes my Lord,” the jet purred, his optics hungrily fixed between the warlord’s legs.

“Now let’s review,” the tyrant said, indicating for his Second in Command to rise from his seat and move to the berth.

Not caring for the mech already occupying the space, Starscream traveled across the room so fast Nautilator wondered if he had engaged his thruster and crawled up onto the berth, pushing the seacon up to the head of the bed and disturbing him from his initializing recharge.  Unsure what to do with a horny jet sitting in his lap, and still a little distracted by his recent overload, the beastformer stared fixedly at the pair of wings resolutely presented to him, relieved when Megatron returned to his previous position, now between the seeker’s legs.

“The first thing one must do when spiking another mech is?” the tyrant asked, placing his servos on the jet’s white thighs.

“Preparation,” the air commander purred, his optics smoldering as his leader leaned in close.

“Very good Starscream,” Megatron praised as he moved his hand to rub a digit around the seeker’s exposed valve, “for once you were actually listening.”

Starscream made no move to respond to the slight jibe, simply moaning in pleasure as a finger probed past the sensor laden rim and into the silky interior of his valve.  The seeker bucked in Nautilator’s lap, his wings snapping back, almost catching the beastformer with their convulsions, the tremors only becoming more violent as Megatron reached deeper and deeper into Starscream’s valve.  Only when Nautilator reached out to steady them did they stop their fitful jolts, a loud moan erupting from their owner as soon as his servos made contact.

Freezing at the unexpected sound, Nautilator moved to detach his hands, worried he had done something wrong, only to be surprised as the wings followed his retreat, pressing firmly into his palms.  Intrigued by this reaction, Nautilator began to explore the appendages before him (after gaining an approving nod from his commander), and marveled at the many illicit sounds he could pull from the unbridled mech.  If he simultaneously ran both servos firmly over the top edges he would be rewarded with a deep grunt, while pinching the tips produced a quiet shutter, and flat palms on the surface of the wings got a low moan in appreciation.  But possibly most interesting of all, when the bottom edges, where the wings were joined to the frame, were oh so lightly brushed, the jet cried out in needy gasps, arching back into his grasp while calling out their Lord’s name.

With all this stimulation, it didn’t take long for the seeker to reach his first overload.

Not giving the mech time to recover, Megatron climbed onto the berth, shoving Nautilator flush against the wall at the head of the bed, and with one quick move seating himself inside the jet.  Nautilator could do nothing but watch as the warlord pounded into the seeker crying out in his lap, feeling his arousal return with every thrust and subsequent groan.  The two of them went at it for several minutes, grunting and moaning against each other as they chased their release, the seeker toppling over into overload twice before the tyrant’s pace even began to falter.

When the militant finally did reach his overload, he growled hard against the seeker’s neck, ordering the jet to come once more as he unloaded his release into the mech’s valve; and as the jet convulsed for a final time, Nautilator knew Starscream had obeyed.

For several moments the two mechs simply stared at one another, their vents running high as they tried to cool down after their arduous exploits.  As they settled down, Starscream’s optics began to dim in the early stages of recharge, but before Nautilator could even think about joining him on his journey to the land of the weary, Megatron glared up at him from his place perched over Starscream.

“Leave,” the militant said, his voice leaving no room for refusal, “Now.”

Nautilator didn’t need to be told twice, not caring when Starscream grunted in annoyance as he lost his headrest to Nautilator’s scrambled fleeing.

In his hurry to escape, the seacon failed to notice Megatron dropping down onto the berth next to Starscream, barely missing the seeker’s wing.  Nor did he see the jet slide over to lay against the tyrant’s chest, the warlord wrapping a sturdy arm around the seeker’s relaxed frame.  No, he missed all of this as he sped down the hall as fast as his legs would carry him, only leaving the sound of his engines still running hot behind him.

 

 

Back at the seacon’s temporary quarters, Nautilator stood in from of the suite, his cooling fans still operating at their limit, waiting for his teammates to respond to his request for entry.  The heartless mechs no doubt having locked him out in retribution for abandoning them earlier.

“Well look who finally decided to show up,” Snaptrap griped as the door slid open, his arms crossed as he glared down at the sharkformer.

Not giving the sadistic mech time to start on whatever scalding punishment he no doubt had thought up while furiously scraping barnacles, Nautilator smashed his mouth against his leader’s facemask, not even waiting for the door to close behind him as he dug into the transformation seams around startled mech’s interface hatch.


End file.
